


You Wanna Play Games

by Fudgyokra



Series: Kinktober 2019 [11]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Cuckolding, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Impact Play, Jealousy, Light BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 00:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21127856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: Dick had mastered the art of getting Bruce’s attention.





	You Wanna Play Games

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I need to write something besides BruDick for Kinktober  
Me: *listens to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68uBdLoOpag) on repeat*  
Me: Okay so SladeDick + jealous Bruce it is.
> 
> Title from Simon Curtis’s “Joystick.”
> 
> Day 22: Impact Play* | Cuckolding* | Hand-jobs | Threesome (or more)

Bruce wanted to act as if he didn’t care. It had taken Dick years to realize it was was all a ploy, like his gala persona, to pretend he didn’t feel the same way Dick had since he was a teenager. So, really, this served him right.

Plus, it felt_so _good to have an audience.

“Count,” Slade demanded, and Dick had to remember where he was for a second before he could keep up with the number of smacks he’d been dealt so far.

“Twenty,” he answered at last. His voice sounded as if it had gone through a paper shredder. They were at a count ten higher than Bruce ever allowed him, and the bend he held over Slade’s lap from where the man sat on the edge of the bed was beginning to make his spine feel stiff. Even still, Dick didn’t want to move, especially when Slade grabbed the back of his neck as if he were an animal and demanded the proper thanks. “Thank you—” it had been humiliating at first, and now felt thrilling in the best possible way— “_daddy._”

Bruce had stopped squirming in his bonds a while ago, glaring daggers at the two of them.

Throughout years of studying, Dick figured out a great many things about his mentor, including the fact of his peculiar attraction to pain. Physical, certainly, but emotional as well, dealt by Dick’s hand more often than not. Whether it was because Bruce enjoyed being punished or simply enjoyed whatever sensation Dick gave him, he couldn’t be sure.

Slade smacked him again, palm connecting with the bright red skin of his upper thigh, just below the swell of his ass. The majority of the man’s strikes had been placed there in order to maintain the possessive mark of his handprint above it, which stood out too obviously for Bruce’s comfort.

They goaded him into this game with a night of flirting and banter, owed wholly to Dick’s disdain over Bruce’s latest threat of control. As head of the house, he always assumed Dick would weather through anything just to stay by his side, only to be proven wrong time and time again. Dick began to suspect that, too, was a front, and acted accordingly.

Going to Slade was the part that really stung, judging by Bruce’s sloped brows and tense mouth. If he could talk at all past the rope between his teeth, he would surely be yelling as emphatically as he had been when Dick first started stripping.

Another strike came down and this time he hissed, jerking forward in Slade’s lap. The words tumbled out automatically: “Twenty-one. Thank you, daddy.” He was reaching the end of his patience, evidenced by the unabashed way he was rutting against Slade’s thigh. Both of his own were spread out on either side of it, bare, the backs faced toward Bruce to drive the metaphorical nail deeper. He could see everything from the chair upon which he was tied down, from the quaking of Dick’s muscles to the way Slade occasionally spread him open to show him off, red and raw and dripping cum from the round they’d gone through before Bruce had awakened.

“Really great of you to let someone so obedient go,” Slade remarked, taking a brief recess to rub his hands almost soothingly over Dick’s cheeks before he pulled him apart once more. “I can assure you, I’d take much better care of him if he belonged to me.”

Bruce growled from behind the rope, as if to say _he doesn’t belong to you._

Dick keened at Slade’s next hit, flesh stinging well after it landed. “Twenty-two,” he gasped, “please, I need it.” Another slap, another keen. “Twenty-three! I’m sorry, I’m sorry—thank you, daddy.” He couldn’t see Bruce from where he was splayed out, but he could hear the labored breathing that told him far more than the likely-schooled expression ever could.

Slade hummed, pleased. “I didn’t think you liked them this easy, Mister Wayne.” One more smack of open palm against heated skin, this one getting Dick to wriggle as far away as he could before earning another for his behavior. “And it’s adorable how much of a slut this one is.” Dick had barely choked out his next counts before Slade struck him again, catching him by the hips when he lurched forward, instinctively trying to escape the pain. “I don’t know what on earth you did to drive him away, but I won’t make the same mistake.”

Dick’s hips rocked against the coarse fabric of Slade’s pants, cock searching for any amount of friction it could after enduring such neglect. He was placated by two of Slade’s fingers pushing inside of him, stretching him out further for their captive audience to see, a sensation at which he couldn’t help but moan. The noise came out so unfiltered and filthy he twitched at it, as if the sound of his own voice lifted him that much higher. Perhaps it was the idea he really was what Slade said: Easy, slutty, ready to take for anyone who came calling.

Bruce made a bitten-off sound of his own, prompting Dick to arch his back, both for better access and more of a performative aspect. He could feel himself leaking obscenely, knowing how used and defiled he must look and feeling more desperate because of it. His hips kept moving of their own accord, each pass over the solid mass of Slade’s thigh a frightfully pleasurable thing, making him shake wildly until a sob fought its way out of him. He looked downright submissive, unusually so, as he ground back against those fingers.

“Come on,” he moaned, feet planting solidly on the carpet so he could hump against Slade with as much fervor as he desired, “fuck me.”

“Hear that?” Slade asked Bruce, ignoring Dick, much to his chagrin. “Poor thing wants it so bad.”

Dick felt the urge to snap at him to shut up, then remembered the game he was playing and did nothing more than groan, frustrated, against the covers. By tilting just right, placing his weight on one shoulder, he could peer down the length of the bed at Bruce, who fought against the straps holding him with renewed vigor. The image sent a chill along his spine, until a bodily shudder had him tensing all over with anticipation. “Please,” he asked again, embarrassingly close to a whine. Then, for good measure: “_Slade._”

The call of a name that wasn’t his own had Bruce snarling. Dick thrived on the jealousy, the sheer energetic way he fought against bonds specifically calculated to stop even the Batman in his tracks—all Dick’s idea. Briefly, he daydreamed about the brutal sex an angry Bruce would often lavish him with, finding that he halfway hoped the man would burst free, ignoring Slade in favor of roughing up his protégé from the inside out. If Dick were lucky, Slade might even join in.

It was a fantasy, of course. Bruce wouldn’t dare let anyone else have him, which was exactly what had led them to this moment.

Finally, Slade withdrew his fingers, using them to unzip himself.

Bruce’s struggling reignited, a handful of slurred words making it past the ropes. _Don’t touch him,_ Dick realized, skin burning everywhere at the knowledge, even the places Slade hadn’t reddened with his hands.

Before penetration even occurred, Dick’s eyes were rolling back in his head. He was dragged across the bed until Slade was behind him, Bruce in front, intense eyes locked on his own while he whimpered and sobbed and begged to be split open.

He felt it seconds after: The familiar hardness shoving through abused muscle, until it was buried to the hilt and Dick was achingly full. In the spaces between his breaths, he felt like drooling, only managing to refrain by holding Bruce’s stare with hooded eyes. Despite his carefully-cultivated showmanship, a long, wavering moan slipped through the cracks as his spine curved upward to avoid the harsh thrusts against sensitive places, only to have a hand shove him down so he was made to take it.

Although his lips parted, no sound came out beyond the initial couple of strokes. Every thrust after stole the breath from him as Slade repeatedly struck his prostate. He could do little more than accept the feeling spreading through him with as much grace as he could muster. His eyes fluttered closed, fingers twisted in the sheets, and the whole time, he was hyper-aware of Bruce’s eyes on him, scrutinizing the pleasured twitches of his body while he took whatever Slade had to offer in his attempt to drive Bruce wild.

Dick felt like it was working, if only due to the rise and fall of Bruce’s chest, each heaving breath like a wounded inhalation.

“Doesn’t he look sweet?” Slade asked. His hand curled around Dick’s chin, forcing his face up to meet Bruce’s with inescapable accuracy. “He looks like he deserves to be taking cock, doesn’t he?”

Bruce groaned past his gag, eyes narrowed in spite of his twitching as he tried to break free.

Slade breathed out a pleasant, “_Yeah,_” when Dick grit his teeth against a whine. “That’s it, boy. That’s what you’re good for.”

It was part of their agreement, but Dick wasn’t able to stop the flush of shame from spreading across his face. That could be true, he thought, with a frantic series of rocks backward: He needed it from Bruce so badly he had to go to a deadly mercenary to prove him wrong. Now, there was no escaping the onslaught, no matter how overwhelming Slade’s cock felt knocking repeatedly against the right spot, until his own was leaking on the sheets and he couldn’t quell the spasms his hips gave at each thrust into his willing hole.

He cursed, jaw tensing. “Gonna—gonna cum.” The words were panted against the bed at which he gripped, nails and all.

“Show Wayne how good it feels to take it from a real man.” Slade hooked his arm around Dick’s chest, lifting him up to an angle that not only had the cock buried in him sliding impossibly deeper, but left him fully bared to the still-fiery sweep of Bruce’s eyes, darting from one location to the other as if ensuring he hadn’t taken too much damage. They settled, ultimately, on the vicious length pumping in and out of him, hard enough that it bounced him upward with each go, lewd smacking noises reverberating through the room.

Bruce all but snarled. It was the flex of his hips and thighs, though, that caught Dick’s attention; the victory of inducing arousal was heady enough to tip him over the edge, his fingertips scrabbling for purchase on Slade’s arm as he cried out with the force of his orgasm. He bucked forward into what began as thin air and soon became Slade’s other hand, the added heat and pressure making him dizzy. It did the trick of wringing him out properly, and he had no choice but to lean his head back on the man’s shoulder and ride out the tremors.

By the end, he could hardly hear his own plateauing moans above the ringing in his ears, much less immediately grasp that the wet pulsing sensation he felt was Slade cumming inside him again, staking his claim with a proper mark of ownership. Bruce was going to be even more furious at that. Dick grinned, albeit blearily.

If that didn’t show his mentor what for, he didn’t know what would.


End file.
